


Sentinel of Hearts

by Blu3sc0rpion



Series: Twisted Fates [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dissociation, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Anakin Skywalker, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Anakin Skywalker, obikin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu3sc0rpion/pseuds/Blu3sc0rpion
Summary: **This story takes place after the events of Debted**//It is not necessary to read the previous story to understand the events in this fic, it stands on its own so please don't feel obligated to read Debted if you are uncomfortable with its content. Take care to look at the tags if you choose to read it.//Years have passed since Obi-wan escaped his evil Master, Qui-gon Jinn. Permanently scarred by his years under the man's control he finds himself unable to accept the Jedi way of life. Thoughts of revenge plague him. If it wasn't for Anakin, he wasn't sure he would survive. He finds a curious truth within himself, that he envies his student. Anakin's past was erased from his memory. If only Obi-wan had been so lucky.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Twisted Fates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692727
Comments: 55
Kudos: 177





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a heads up, while this story is a continuation of events after Debted, it's tags are vastly different. There will be no graphic rape/non-con content in this fic. Just lots of hurt, angst, and comfort. And the good stuff, too ;)

Anakin watched Obi-wan from the corner of his eye, a passive nonchalance in his demeanor. It wasn’t so different from his usual lackadaisical poise that told of confidence and underlying physical prowess, the only difference was right now it was meant to be intimidating. The mercenary armor and rifle he slung over his shoulder added to the front, though it was hardly an empty display. He was ready to spring into action with only a fraction of a second’s notice. 

On the surface he seemed uninterested in the unfolding conversation that struck between Obi-wan and the small-time Crime Lord, but his senses were stretched out in all directions. He could hear and recall word for word the discussion that was taking place, he could feel the gentle waves of vibration that each living being surrounding him emanated through the force. He could feel their hearts beating, their minds ticking away on their own, subjectively trivial matters. Just as clearly he could sense Obi-wan’s growing impatience. 

“If I am to enter into an agreement with you, I insist on seeing the production floor.” Obi-wan ground out haughtily, a testy look on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, making sure to leave his fingers splayed out to showcase his collection of precious jeweled rings. 

The way Obi-wan played his role was laughable for many reasons. While the innate entitlement of a wealthy black market businessman was not befitting of him the moody snappish demeanor was completely, and that was where the similarities ended. 

Anakin knew he detested the showy rings and fine shimmersilk clothes. Even so far outside the Order Obi-wan still clung to their minimalist lifestyle in both form and function, rarely straying far from their hallmark shades of gray and brown. His temperament tended to be equally cold and one dimensional. 

Obi-wan was a stern, quiet man. Anakin had to strain his memory to recall the last time he had smiled- _truly_ smiled. Even when he did he never felt it in Obi-wan’s aura, which also tended to be bleak as his fashion choices. 

Despite his emotional distance one thing the man did possess was a sense of humor, however close to his chest it was kept. Such was the manner in which Obi-wan seemed to carry out his life- not so much in secrecy as he was shrouded by unspoken things and brooding emotions that put a tangible wall between himself and everything else. Over the years Anakin hoped he would become the exception to those impenetrable defenses. He would have to keep on hoping. 

“That is an unorthodox request, Count Myrvon,” Safia said, reclining in her gilded seat that looked more like the throne of a Queen than that of a petty, low-level Cartel ring leader. 

Safia had created an impressive mark on the underworld during her short time rising up within its bowels. It was the only reason she made it onto Obi-wan’s scope of awareness. Or rather, not her, but the stolen data she possessed. As war cast its net across the stars, ensnaring the galaxy, great opportunity presented itself to those who watched for it. Safia had been waiting shrewdly and so far it had paid off. 

So far. 

It wasn’t uncommon for the thirst for power to blind those who sought after it. There was a fine line between climbing up through the ranks and biting off more than one could chew. Pirating small arms shipments was one thing. Stealing sensitive information for blackmail on a Senator was another. 

Rather than get the Senate and their Jedi involved for fear of compromising the Senator’s good standing, a deal was brokered- in Anakin’s opinion a rather bad deal. If he had any say in the matter he would have driven up the price or rejected the job altogether.

It was uncharacteristic for Obi-wan to take any job that didn’t directly benefit beings in need. With a war on, jobs like that weren’t hard to find. The Republic hardly had the resources to help everyone who needed it. Support was always funneled to the worlds that contributed more resources to the Galactic economy. Other worlds were left with scraps or nothing at all, and that was their preferred area of expertise. Just because they no longer subscribed to Jedi dogma didn’t mean they had abandoned their morals, Obi-wan reminded him time and time again.

Just because they had morals didn’t make them a charity, either, Anakin told him. Still Obi-wan refused to budge on the issue with the strangely vague explanation of owing someone a favor. When Anakin pressed the matter again Obi-wan’s story changed, saying some words about a friend in the Senate. 

Anakin found it difficult to restrain the shock he felt when Obi-wan claimed to have any friends at all, _especially_ among politicians. It had been just the two of them for nearly as long as Anakin could remember and it was no well-kept secret that Obi-wan detested politics. Of course, expressing that earned him a prompt, unveiled look of disdain, as many of the things Anakin said tended to coax from him.

Conceding to Obi-wan’s direction they both spent the last two months pouring their efforts into posturing themselves for this moment. It irked him that Obi-wan easily brushed aside his feelings on the matter. Mostly the fact that he refused to arrange for better compensation was what got to him. There were a few times Obi-wan agreed to jobs like this in the past. They were near to destitute at the time and hurting for credits. He was a fierce negotiator when it came to settling terms, and on this job, they would barely break even. It didn’t make sense. 

Anakin wondered what the Senator had over Obi-wan’s head that would let him be bullied to take a price so low. If he was getting more than a 30% cut, he might not have been as bothered, but that had been Obi-wan’s terms from the very beginning. Everything past operational cost was to be split 70/30. When they started this life Anakin was still very young and hardly cared. Just to stay by Obi-wan’s side and continue to learn from him was enough. Now that he was well past boyhood he contested the issue multiple times, only to be shot down. 

_“You’re still my apprentice, Anakin. And you still have much to learn.”_

Just the thought made Anakin’s focus skew slightly, made his jaw clench with anger that he told himself was only mild irritation. He wondered if there would ever be a day that Obi-wan saw him as an equal. As jobs came and went it felt more like an excuse than a reason to withhold financially from Anakin, what he felt was rightfully his. This most recent job only made those feelings come to a head. 

“I need to see that you are capable of producing the amount of product I require,” Obi-wan insisted, still in beguiled deliberations with the lowly self-proclaimed underworld Queen. “If that’s too much trouble I can happily take my business elsewhere,” he said with an air of snobbishness that Anakin sensed he was starting to enjoy too much. 

“No, it’s no trouble,” Safia assured him, a tinge of worry edging its way into her words. 

Every being had a weakness, Obi-wan had taught him. A little pressure on the right spot and anyone could be broken or swayed. It was even easier when motivations were so obvious. With Saifa they may as well have been written on her face. She was gaining reputability in the underworld but still relied heavily on word of mouth. A single disgruntled man with enough money in his pocket could send her spiraling off the throne she desperately clung to. Obi-wan and Anakin knew it, Safia did, too. After all, it was exactly what they were counting on and they were rarely wrong. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Obi-wan spat with a sneer. 

“Count, I assure you,” Safia stood, standing with a graciously outstretched arm. Her face was painted over with mock kindness. Anakin could feel hatred boil inside of her as well as Obi-wan’s amusement for it. “Let me give you the tour myself.” 

“Guard,” Safia waved towards Anakin. He wasn’t just any guard, but her private enforcer- one of two others that happened to fall ill the day prior making him the only one able to stand guard for her now. 

Without further instruction Anakin followed behind Safia while she guided a now silent Obi-wan down the hallway from what served as her office to the warehouse beyond. It was a shockingly large operation, at least their stockrooms seemed to give off that impression. The numbers on her datapad told other stories, he learned, after his first week on the job. 

“What do you think, Count?” Safia asked with a counterfeit smile, her shoulders stiff and rigid. 

“I said production floor, not warehouse,” Obi-wan said sharply. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with,” he added open-endedly, a poorly veiled threat. 

“I didn’t say the tour was over, you misunderstand,” she said graciously. “This way.” 

Her movements were graceful but her patience was running thin as she walked towards the corridor that separated the warehouse from the high-security complex where various spices were manufactured, high-value items were kept, and prisoners were held. When skimming the blueprints Anakin thought it poor strategy to have so many key assets all in one place. Since it only made their job easier he wasn’t complaining. He was glad for her overconfidence. 

Anakin had memorized the layout of the high-security sector. He knew that the cleanroom leading to the production floor lay beyond the double doors in front of them and that there were two sets of guards inside at all times. He knew the hall leading off to the right of those doors led to a row of holding cells, less guarded than the production floor. He knew the names of all prisoners held there, and which cells they occupied. 

Their objective lay down the hall to the left, hidden behind a triple measure security system. The vault was only coded to be opened by Safia, herself. Right now she was leading them both through the double doors to the cleanroom where they could look out at the workers in their masks and gowns, breaking down and processing spice to sell on the black market. They were little more than slaves, pressed into indentured servitude, working for wages so low they would never break free. Anakin’s gut tied into knots at the sight. There was little that irked him more than seeing beings treated like objects- _expendable resources._

“Do you feel reassured, Count?” Safia asked sweetly. 

Obi-wan stood with his hands on his hips and gave a curt _“hmph.”_ Not disapproving, but not impressed.

“Is it a deal?” Safia pressed insistently.

“I feel we ought to renegotiate some terms of our agreement,” Obi-wan said in a snobbishly thoughtful voice. “But seeing your facility has eased some of my concerns.”

“I see,” Safia answered, visibly grinding her teeth as Obi-wan cast his indifferent gaze over the production floor. “Well let’s go back and talk about that, then.”

With a brow raised skeptically, Obi-wan turned and left the cleanroom, leading his own way down the halls. With a huff Safia followed and Anakin turned in pursuit as a loyal guard would. 

This. All of the setup and posturing during the last two months finally cumulated to this moment. 

Obi-wan turned down the hall towards the vault with the same haughty air about him, the same stiff rigid spine that made him look like he had a stick lodged up his ass. He was holding true to his character so well Anakin couldn’t help but admire him for it. Obi-wan always had been a great actor, fitting well into any role a job might call for. Anakin thought he could convince someone to pay credits to be swindled further, without a single touch of force persuasion.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Safia barked, casing down the hall after him. Obi-wan did not turn yet, Anakin knew he was waiting. She was just three- two steps away from entering a surveillance blindspot a few feet away from the door. Past that, there were no cameras in the vault. Anakin continued to follow, her ever-present loyal guard. 

Not a fraction of a second after she was eclipsed out of sight from the security cam, the rigid posture in Obi-wan’s spine melted into fluid action. He still wore the same hideously bright colored clothes, the same gaudy rings, his hair was still plastered in a repulsive, supposedly fashionable style, but he looked _different_. He looked like himself. It was just another backdrop to admire the man’s acting skills against. 

“Wha-” Safia started, before Obi-wan’s hand clamped down hard over her mouth, shoving her against the wall, keeping her hands from reaching her sidearm. 

Anakin walked over casually, taking the blaster from the holster on her hip and aiming it at her chest with equal disregard. A sharp look of betrayal burned in Safia’s eyes. Anakin found himself hardened to it. He and Obi-wan had tricked and swindled hundreds of beings during their time together. It was just part of the job. At a time that looked bothered him, stung on the fabric of his soul. Obi-wan told him it was the burden of a pure heart but that it would get easier with time, and it had. 

Safia struggled and snarled against Obi-wan but he held her steady under his grip. “Shh, listen, this doesn’t have to be difficult,” he said in his own voice this time- stern, commanding, yet calm.

She ceased to fight against him and listened, as all tended to do when Obi-wan spoke with such passive authority. “You’ve stolen something from a very powerful Senator. I’m going to take it back. No one has to know. You can retain your dignity, your operation, everything,” he explained gently. “Just give us the disc, it’s all we want.” 

Anakin could see the expression in her eyes change as she thought it over. Obi-wan loosened his hold on her mouth slowly, giving her a chance to speak. Her eyes darted between the two of them with a vulnerable quality. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” She asked critically. 

“You don’t.” Anakin offered up cooly. 

“You’ll just have to take a leap of faith,” Obi-wan added with a small humored smile. 

“And if I don’t?” She bit out defiantly. 

“Do you want to find out?” Obi-wan taunted, sending shivers down Anakin’s spine. He knew Obi-wan would never harm someone over a job like this. Really he went out of his way to never kill or maim if he could help it. But his _voice_ \- his voice would make you think he was capable of cold-blooded murder. Obi-wan was the only being he knew who could turn a sweet whisper into something so frightening. 

Safia swallowed the fear well, it did not touch her face but only shone faintly in her eyes. Anakin could feel it surround her, coil inside of her. He felt Obi-wan’s slight satisfaction for it, too. 

“Fine.” She said, caving. 

Obi-wan released her from his grip while Anakin remained in the hall, blocking her path with the blaster’s muzzle still aimed straight for her heart. She shot him a wicked glance. 

“Is that necessary?” She spat. 

“Quite,” Obi-wan answered curtly. “Go on, then. You’ll find I’m not a patient man.” 

Anakin couldn’t help but smile at that. Nothing could be closer to the truth. Shooting them both a glare that could kill Safia turned for the door to the vault and quickly opened it. Before she could walk inside Obi-wan caught her arm, pulling her back.

“We’ll take it from here,” Obi-wan said as Anakin stepped inside, quickly honing in on the disc and stashing it away in his belt. 

“Got it,” Anakin said, relief rolling off him in waves. He was so ready to be done with this kriffing mission, he couldn’t wait to get it over with. 

“Excellent,” Obi-wan said smoothly, his eyes glinting with unspoken praise. “Now close up the vault and you’ll show us out,” he ordered, returning his gaze to Safia. 

Silently she did as she was told. Anakin took the clip from her blaster and replaced it with an empty one, returning the weapon to her. She took the lead, walking inches ahead of Obi-wan while Anakin trailed after her. 

Anakin sensed a shift in the force before anything happened, mere seconds before Obi-wan shot him a grave stare. _I feel it, too_. Anakin spoke through their bond. He could see in his eyes that Obi-wan heard him.

The door to the warehouse opened, but their awareness already stretched out past the moment and into the next. They sensed the blaster bolts raining down on them before a single trigger was pulled. Lightsabers were always reserved as a last resort. They were the only wanted men in the galaxy who had any skill to use them, and every time their use painted a target on their heads that was hard to evade after the fact. 

There must have been some oversight in the security controls on the safe, some sort of mechanism that was able to alert Safia’s security force. Anakin groaned inside himself. This mission wasn’t worth it, but it was too late now. They were in too deep. The only way out was through. It didn’t matter that it was Obi-wan’s job to dig up information on the security protocols, though it did make Anakin angrier. The thought of being treated like a youngling while Obi-wan could screw up so badly to put them in a bind like this stirred unpleasantly inside him. They would talk about this but now was not the time. 

Anakin’s hand reached for his saber but before he could get to it Obi-wan barked out a stiff _“No-”_ , to which he heeded. 

Just before the blaster fire was imminent Obi-wan grabbed Safia and held her tight against him as a shield while Anakin stood behind the both of them. The future changed, bolts dissipating before they even existed. 

“Shoot and she dies,” Obi-wan called out, scanning over the warehouse in which he saw at least twenty armed men staring them down. 

“No one has to get hurt if you call your men off now.” Obi-wan murmured into her ear. 

Another premonition surged through Anakin as clear as if it were unfolding already. In mere seconds it would be. How come Obi-wan hadn’t sensed it? Anymore Anakin always felt steps ahead of him most times- even being a second faster could mean life or death. But still, he was not fast enough. 

Hidden in Safia’s sleeve was a short vibro-blade that they both had overlooked, and now she brandished it quickly, jabbing back and stabbing Obi-wan in his stomach before Anakin had a chance to act. Safia scampered away and blaster fire was imminent yet again.

Obi-wan held at the gushing wound, brushing aside the pain. Anakin knew it took great effort, he could feel it, but he was always amazed at what he was able to work past while making it seem almost effortless. The pain wasn’t going to incapacitate Obi-wan, but bloodloss would make quick work of it. 

Anakin pulled his saber into his grip, igniting it before the first wave of bolts rained down on them both. Deflecting the fire was second nature to him- a Padawan’s task.

“Anakin,” Obi-wan groaned, half frustrated that they now had revealed themselves, half in dismay with himself for letting that woman wound him so badly. He had fallen to his knees now, faint with bloodloss. 

“Just hang on, Obi-wan,” Anakin called back, half in agony over the man's injury, half furious with him for getting them in this mess, to begin with. 

The deflected bolts pinged back with deadly accuracy, killing most of the guards if not maiming them. This was not the way they liked to do business, but there were few options left to them at this point. Besides, Anakin couldn’t deny that he wanted to break that witch’s neck for what she did to Obi-wan, but she was long gone. He could take his anger out on the guards, instead. 

“Don’t… kill them _all_ Anakin... let it _go._ ” Obi-wan said weakly as he collapsed on the ground, his hand falling away from his wound limply as dark red poured out. 

At that moment shame eclipsed him. The last few deflected bolts struck at knee level, and with a sweep of force Anakin pulled their rifles out of reach. He felt a voice inside himself stained with remorse. _I’m sorry Master._ He hardly ever referred to Obi-wan as his Master anymore, but in moments of teaching and scolding, Anakin couldn’t help but feel like a Padawan who had let his Master down. 

With all the guards on hand incapacitated and a fresh wave on the way, Anakin probably had five minutes to get himself and Obi-wan to their ship. Even less if he wanted to break atmosphere without being shot at. He reached down, slinging Obi-wan’s deadweight over his shoulders and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Anakin watches as Obi-wan stirs on the med-cot. His wounds tended to and his blood levels completely restored. The rickety old med-droid they kept around saw to most of it while Anakin flew through a series of evasive maneuvers until he managed to spin up into hyperspace. Now they safely sped away from their enemies and Obi-wan was asleep- albeit restlessly- on the tail end of his injury-induced coma. 

He was always a restless sleeper when he did sleep. Most of the time Obi-wan settled for meditation instead. It _was_ possible to restore the body and mind through meditation and Obi-wan claimed to have found it more efficient than sleeping. Sometimes Anakin wondered about the validity of that claim. 

More often than not Obi-wan was walking around severely sleep-deprived, not even keeping up on his meditation enough to maintain himself, not that the man would ever admit to it. If the deep purple bags and worse than usual attitude didn’t give him away, his borderline narcoleptic spells did. During the last two months during the buildup to this job Obi-wan had neglected himself even more than usual, not even meditating enough to keep himself _halfway_ rested. Anakin suspects that was what led to Obi-wan’s oversight with the security protocols. More than suspecting- he _knows_ it. 

Anakin feels anger boil in his gut. It kills him to be treated like a youngling when he is just as competent as Obi-wan. No- _more_ competent than him. Anakin should be getting the larger cut if one was to be had, but he would be just fine with an even split, even with Obi-wan’s massive fuck up. Anakin doesn’t want to hang it over his head, but he does want to be treated like an equal. 

Obi-wan stirs again, mumbling in his sleep as his arms begin to thrash about against the meager restraints that kept him safely tethered to the cot. Although he wants to, Anakin knows better than to try to wake him up during such a spell. He would either nearly frighten the man to death or get hurt in the attempt, if not both. He knows Obi-wan hates being seen like this, desperate whimpers ripping from his throat as he flails. Sometimes Anakin wonders what is capable of bringing a man like him to such a state but he doesn’t dare look and find out. 

It isn’t fear that keeps him from peering inside the man’s dreaming mind so much as it is respect. Obi-wan has his flaws, and he is reluctant to admit to them or apologize when he is wrong. But Obi-wan is also a kind, just being at his core, though it is hard to see sometimes. 

The man has erected countless defenses between himself and the world around him, and is highly skeptical and mistrusting of everything and everyone. Mostly these instincts play out to their benefit. He knows Obi-wan always acts with their shared interests in mind. 

Anakin looks up to Obi-wan in many ways and undoubtedly cares for him, so it is always difficult to see him like this. He knows he should leave the room. Obi-wan will be furious with him for standing by and watching him like this, but he doesn’t want to leave him. Besides, he has urgent business to discuss and he knows the man will wake soon. 

Pulling a deep breath into his lungs Obi-wan starts to scream, wrenching against the med-straps that hold him safely in place, keeping him from doing too much damage to the fresh knife wound in his belly. The wailing stops as his eyes fly open, painted over with terror before they return to their typical dull, unamused state. Obi-wan releases the med strap around him and rises, wincing slightly for the sharp pain in his side. 

His eyes are narrow, sharp as daggers as they train on Anakin. Anakin holds his gaze with a look of equal complacency that slowly tames the venom in Obi-wan’s eyes. Taking a deep, slightly unsteady breath he runs a hand over his face, his mind turning back to the job they just botched. 

“You have the disk?” Obi-wan mutters irritably. 

“Of course,” Anakin says, almost offended. He pulls the thin holo from his belt, calling it to hand through the force. 

Obi-wan snatches it from him, floating it into his palm. Something settles in his aura as his hard face turns weary as he holds it- _relief_. 

Anakin holds his tongue for a moment, biting back his anger. “That was quite an exit we made,” Obi-wan says dryly, alluding to Anakin’s discretion with his lightsaber. “We’ll have Jedi hot on our tail now. It will be impossible to return to Coruscant so soon.”

The tone in Obi-wan’s voice isn’t overtly blaming, but just enough to send Anakin over the edge. “Don’t start with that- it’s your fault we ended up in that mess to begin with.” Anakin blurts.

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-wan scoffs bitterly. 

“Security details were your job, not _mine._ ” Anakin shoots back angrily. “And you fucked us on this one, Obi-wan. Big time.” 

“You don’t get to complain. _You’re_ not the one with a gaping knife wound in your stomach.” Obi-wan says cooly, becoming particularly cross.

“And whose fault is that?” Anakin challenges. “If she didn’t have an _out_ she would have played _along_.”

“So you're telling me that you could do so much better?” Obi-wan chides doubtfully. “I do _all_ the footwork for our jobs. You’re just the _muscle,”_ he accuses. 

Honestly, those words sting. Is that all he saw him as? Obi-wan isn’t often given to anger but when he is, he has the habit of being quite spiteful. “You don’t have to do everything yourself. Just look where that puts us,” he motions to Obi-wan’s injured side. “I’m more than capable of doing the work. I can’t possibly be any worse at it than _you,”_ Anakin jabs back.

Obi-wan isn’t always so bitter, but lately his temper has been far worse than usual. Anakin wants things to go back to how they used to be- Obi-wan’s snide sense of humor and dry attitude contrasting his own sarcastic and playful riffs. Before they felt more like a team. Now they feel like enemies. 

“Aren’t you so sure of _yourself,_ ” Obi-wan mutters sharply. “You forget who's in charge here. You would do well to show some _respect_ ,” he threatens, but they are empty words- only offered up because he has nothing left to contest with. 

“All I know is that after burning through our med supplies just to keep you alive, we’re underneath our operating costs for this job. I _tried_ to tell you this was a bad deal but you wouldn’t listen. You _never_ listen.” 

“Hmph,” Obi-wan huffs. “Perhaps you should have just let me bleed to death. Then all your problems would be solved,” he says haughtily. 

“Maybe I should have.” Anakin shoots back with an angry glare that Obi-wan stares hard against. 

In the past it would have been Obi-wan to reach out with an olive branch, however small it may have been. Anakin can see the man isn’t about to offer up a single apology or kindness. He feels himself at his wits end. 

“I’m taking half from here on out,” Anakin declares, his eyes searing into Obi-wan’s. 

“No, you’re not. You take thirty percent. You are _still_ my apprentice.” Obi-wan says flatly. 

“I’m just the muscle, right? Nothing left worth teaching me?” Anakin reminds him as the words still sting in his chest. “I get half. It’s not up for debate. And you don’t get to call me your apprentice, _ever_ again,” he nearly snarls as the hurt festers inside of him. It hurts more than it should. 

Anakin left the entire Jedi order behind to stay by Obi-wan’s side. Of course as a child he didn’t feel he had much of a choice. The council always looked at him as tainted, just like they looked at his Master. 

Obi-wan had been the only one to put effort into his training. The only one who looked at him as worthy of anything, although the reasons alluded him. The permanent amnesia he suffered only compounded that confusion. 

He was told that he had been raised as a slave on Tatooine but the awkward treatment he and his Master garnered from the Council seemed to be founded on larger, much darker things. Sometimes he could feel it like a shadow in Obi-wan’s aura, the missing gap in his memories- the reason why others had a hard time meeting the man’s gaze.

No- when Obi-wan left the Jedi, he didn’t have to ask Anakin to follow him, or if he even wanted to. He just _did_. It was the only thing to do. They had nothing and no one aside from each other. It was always that way and still was. But now Anakin begins to question if he even has that. 

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Obi-wan taunts, sauntering up from the cot, a feral glint to his eye. When did things get this bad, Anakin wondered. Obi-wan is not and has never been a very open man, but he can tell something is eating him up inside. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Obi-wan laughs sarcastically, only inches away from him now. “You think you can run this whole operation _yourself?_ ”

“You haven’t taught me anything in months, Obi-wan.” Anakin persists against the man’s attempt to intimidate him. “The deal was I get thirty percent as long as I’m your _Apprentice_. Are you going to go back on your word?”

Something dark crosses Obi-wan’s features, a glimpse of tortured pain and glittering rage. He sees the man tremble with anger. He had seen Obi-wan emulate many dark things during their time together, but never had he felt convinced the man was capable of doing malicious harm. It just wasn’t _him._ But neither is the blatant rage that now eclipses him. 

Anakin doesn’t show the pull of fear that swells inside of him. His face is carefully placid as he pulls his saber to his hand, pressing the unlit business end against Obi-wan’s chest. The man’s eyes shine with amusement for his audacity. Anakin does feel foolish for his reaction, it was entirely thoughtless. Obi-wan has never hurt him, never laid a hand on him. He has no reason to think he will start now, no matter how angry he is. 

In a flash Obi-wan disarms Anakin, taking the saber and slamming him against the ground- something he’d done hundreds of times over during their training exercises. He holds a knee against his chest, the sharp metal edges of his saber stamping against the skin of his neck as Kenobi holds it firmly in his fist. The stitches in his belly leak crimson and Anakin groans internally as he pictures more credits lost for the man’s medical expenses. 

“Haven’t you listened to a single thing I’ve taught you?” Obi-wan asks sadly, his eyes still strangely wild. “Never draw your weapon unless you are prepared to _use it._ ” 

Anakin takes a hold of the man’s shoulder and pulls, sending Obi-wan tumbling to the floor in the next instant. He regains his saber, mirroring the hold Kenobi had him in only seconds ago. “Half.” He says flatly. 

“Do it.” Obi-wan orders.

Anakin looks down at him, puzzled. “You have your saber on my neck, so _do it._ ” He says calmly. 

“ _Half._ ” Anakin doubles down, ignoring the man’s growing insanity. “I get half of _everything_.” 

Obi-wan’s hand flys to the saber, his thumb vectored for the ignition switch. For a moment the force slows around them as Anakin catches a glimpse of the future. What he sees turns his stomach so much that he almost fails to react in time, but by the slimmest fraction of a second he erases that cursed series of events from ever unfolding. He wishes he could rid himself of the image it bestowed just as easily. 

His hands are shaking violently, his heart is rattling in his chest as he yanks his saber away from Obi-wan’s grip. His palms are sweating- _kriff-_ he feels like he just toed off against ten gundarks single-handedly for how adrenaline floods his veins. 

He looks at Obi-wan and can’t help but feel a surge of betrayal. For whatever transient fear he felt before for the man’s unhinged state, he now feels a different kind of fear. Anakin comes to the realization that something is terribly wrong with Obi-wan. It makes him feel like a small Padawan again, adrift in a galaxy, so large and overwhelming. Obi-wan is insufferable at times but Anakin can’t picture life without him. 

He can’t erase the moment from his mind. It tortures him. The picture of his saber skewering the man’s neck makes him shudder. 

“ _Pathetic._ ” Obi-wan sneers, seething.

“Kriffing hells, Obi-wan,” Anakin says, feeling his voice warble ever so slightly with shock. He wants to know what’s going on in his mind, he wants Obi-wan to let him in, to tell him what was wrong- what was _really_ going on. From experience, Anakin knows better than to do any of this. It will only push him away further.

Instead he asserts himself, his knee still pressing Obi-wan against the cold durasteel floor. “We’re partners now. I get _half_.”

Obi-wan glares up at him silently. Anakin can see the acknowledgment in his eyes as the rage dims to resentment. He’s relieved but still shaken. 

When did things get like this?

Anakin stands up and offers to help Obi-wan up. Naturally the man ignores it and stands on his own, but it holds to its purpose. He can refuse help but he can’t refuse to acknowledge the olive branch that Anakin offers. Their relationship is kept afloat with such small gestures since Obi-wan has next to no capacity to talk about his emotions. He may as well have been a Jedi because to him they don’t exist. Until they do.

“So when do we get paid?” Anakin asks, keeping to business. It was the only way to get Obi-wan to respond. One would think their time together would have brought them closer, but it felt like time was having the opposite effect. The distance between them bothered him, but never as much as it did now. Before he disliked it for selfish reasons. Now he genuinely fears for Obi-wan. 

What does this Senator have over his head? This had to be the reason he’d been acting more bitter and distant than usual. Didn’t Obi-wan know he didn’t have to deal with everything alone 

“I’ll get in touch with our contact and set up an alternative meeting point,” Obi-wan says in monotone, touching a hand to his side and seeing it come away red as his wound oozed with blood. He studies the crimson stain on his palm with detached indifference. 

“I’ll be at the helm waiting for coordinates,” Anakin says calmly.

Inside he’s panicking, but Obi-wan has taught him well over the years to stuff emotion to the back of his mind- or ‘release’ it into the force. As if that ever worked. 

When did things get like this?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *trigger warning*  
> mention of suicide with no actual ideation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments it means a lot to me <3 <3   
> Hope you are all doing well!   
> Blu3

Obi-wan senses it before the boy even wakes. He feels the tremors in Anakin’s aura, hears the rustling of sheets from the next room over. The nightmares became so much more frequent in the last few months and he can’t help but begin to worry. He tried to wait for them to pass but what seemed in the beginning only isolated occurrences had turned into weekly disturbances. For ten nights now, they visited him every night. 

Anakin never shouted in his sleep, never cried out for someone to save him- not like Obi-wan’s own personal hell provoked. Being a Knight he’d learned how to meditate to restore his body and mind instead and rarely needed actual sleep. A Padawan, only thirteen years old, Anakin did not have such luxuries. 

A sharp draw of breath followed by soft panting whispered through the space as Anakin wound down from his routine nightmare. Soft footsteps tread out into their living space as Obi-wan maintained his meditation. The Padawan hovered a few moments, thinking whether or not his disturbance warranted bothering his Master. 

The hesitation was another part of his routine. Most nights- all but the first- Anakin turned back towards his quarters, seemingly reassured enough by visually confirming his presence. A few times Obi-wan would beckon for him to sit beside him. For Anakin’s comfort, or his own, he hadn’t bothered to discern. 

This night the boy seemed more distressed than usual and Obi-wan’s heart dropped. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for Anakin to turn back to his quarters to speak. 

“Is it the dream again?” Obi-wan asks, unmoving. 

Anakin stops his retreat, walks closer and nods. Obi-wan’s eyes blink open and he faces his student, standing with his shoulders hunched and head low. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Anakin shakes his head  _ no  _ as his eyes study the bland carpeting below. 

“Come sit with me,” Obi-wan says, more an offer than an order. Anakin knows its intent and nods again, sitting obediently beside him. 

The boy’s eyes sleepily blink into darkness as his head wavers as he tries to maintain consciousness. It’s been ten long, sleepless nights for him. At his age he needs his rest, and between training, studying and  _ trying  _ to sleep but failing, Anakin was totally exhausted. 

Without asking permission Anakin slouches over and huddles on the floor, curling up with his head resting on his Master's lap. Obi-wan’s heart warms and wrenches at the same time. He feels the same protective chord hum in his chest- ever unchanging as the years pass by.

Anakin’s consciousness flickers as he tries to hold onto his wakeful state. Fear lingers as sleep wants to take him and he fights against its hold. As exhausted as he is the fact that he can stay awake at all is a wonder in itself. 

“You’re afraid,” Obi-wan notes, feeling Anakin coil in on himself. 

“The dream,” he explains, drawling with weariness. 

“You’ve had the same dream tens of times. Something is different this time,” Obi-wan states, his voice void of the concern that he so deeply feels. 

Anakin shrinks again, reluctantly nodding as sleep retreats further from him still. Obi-wan places a consoling hand on his head as he thought a mother or father might when comforting a frightened child. It’s his best guess, part of the protective instinct that became a part of him the moment he met this strange little boy. The truth was Obi-wan had no idea how to be a parent, a mentor, a friend. Sometimes the life he led felt like a lie no matter how hard he tried. 

“If you talk about it, you’ll feel better.” 

“It’s the same dream. It just  _ feels  _ different,” Anakin tries to explain. Obi-wan can feel him straining his mind for better words. He doesn’t mean to be withholding but he doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. 

“You can rest here. You’ll be safe, I promise,” he offers. 

“A-are you sure Master? I know it’s just a dream, I don’t mean to be so childish-” Anakin rambles half-asleep. No, it’s not customary for a Padawan his age to need such reassurance, but Obi-wan doesn’t really care. It seems cruel to send him away to face the night alone  _ again,  _ especially when he’s clearly so shaken. Something inside him won’t allow it. 

“Don’t be silly, Anakin. Of course,” Obi-wan hushes, feeling Anakin shift into a more comfortable position against him. 

Anakin wasn’t the only one in need of easing. The dreams-  _ nightmares-  _ hung heavy on Obi-wan’s shoulders, worse for not knowing their extent. 

“Rest now, Padawan,” he orders, pushing a heavy suggestion through the force to aid him. Almost instantly the boy goes limp with sleep. 

Obi-wan looks down at him, his thin frame curled up, his head resting in his lap. He’s grown so much, gotten so tall and yet he’s still so tiny. Obi-wan has tried to be the stoic Jedi that others seem to be. He’s tried emulating the best, most revered Knights and Masters, and it  _ seems  _ to be working. Still it feels empty- just a ruse. 

Obi-wan loves this boy. He loves him so much it  _ breaks  _ him. Hot tears sting in his eyes for the weight of it. Jedi aren't supposed to feel such things so fiercely but Obi-wan knows this love could move him to do almost anything. The protective force inside him reminds him how that instinct saved both of them, once upon a time, when not even a single Jedi could.

No, maybe Jedi weren’t meant to feel this way, but Obi-wan was stronger for it. For so long, it was the only thing that held him together. 

…….

Mace sits patiently on the mat across from them both as Anakin flounders for words. Obi-wan can feel his distress. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to talk about this. For both their sakes, Obi-wan  _ needs  _ him to. 

“Breathe, Anakin. This is not an interrogation. You are not in trouble,” Mace reassures him kindly. The Korun Master is known for his fierceness. His gentleness is not a widely touted trait as much as his stubbornness is so many have difficulty opening up to him when shown this softer side. 

Anakin keeps his face forward though Obi-wan feels the helplessness leach through their bond. The Padawan won’t reach out to him for comfort or reassurance, his presence is enough to help anchor him. 

“I’m sorry Master. Thinking about the dream brings…  _ difficult  _ emotions,” the boy says, his brows pinched with effort. “I don’t understand it.” 

“And that, young Skywalker, is exactly what your Master and I want to help you with. Try to start from the beginning.” 

Anakin takes a breath and closes his eyes. Turbulence cracks through his aura as he dives into the memory. 

“I’m with my Master. It’s dark, and we’re running. There’s so much fear, it’s all around us. I don’t know why.” 

Obi-wan’s pulse quickens, he tries his best to stay his own emotions. He can practically taste the terror, see the image like it was yesterday. 

“We stop running- then all of a sudden- I’m  _ falling _ .” 

Anakin’s fists tighten, his posture stiffens. Obi-wan feels his stomach twist as he sees it, too- Anakin falling down, down, his small body breaking on the duracrete below. 

“And then I wake up. It’s the same every night,” Anakin says, trying to rein in his distress, taking a deep cleansing breath to steady his emotions. 

Obi-wan does the same. 

“He’s had the dream ten nights in a row. It started a few months ago, a weekly occurrence,” Obi-wan explained.

“It’s the same dream every time, but the emotions are different-  _ stronger _ , I think.” Anakin says, deep in thought. “At first it didn’t seem so bad but now, when I wake up, It’s harder to let go of.” 

“That would be troubling,” Mace agreed. “While difficult, it is not uncommon for young people to have bouts of nightmares. I recommend making a visit to Master Che, she has all sorts of remedies for such things.” 

“You don’t think I should be worried, Master Windu? I mean, you don’t think it means anything?”

Mace smiles kindly, “I think a young growing mind under as much stress as yourself is bound to be plagued with nightmares.” 

Anakin nods seriously. “Thank you, Master. I’m grateful for the guidance.” 

“Why don’t you head down to see Master Che? Your Master will be behind you shortly.” 

Anakin nods again, rises, bows, then leaves. Obi-wan lets out a sigh and Mace’s expression darkens. 

“You don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about?” Obi-wan asks, his voice uncritical but his chest burning. If that really was his opinion he would be thankful for it. He wanted to believe this was just a phase that would pass as quickly as it came on if not faster. 

“I meant what I said- it’s normal for pubescent children to have nightmares.” 

“But they aren’t nightmares, Master, they are  _ memories. _ My fear is that he will come to understand that,” he confesses, swallowing hard. “Do you think I should tell him?”

“Obi-wan,” Mace starts, his features earnest. “These will pass. His past is better left forgotten. Your fear, while warranted, is  _ fear.  _ Work to let it go.” 

Obi-wan grits his teeth, frustrated for feeling so easily dismissed. “Anakin is working through his nightmares and the emotions attached to them very well. You should be proud, you’ve trained him well.” Mace commends. 

“Now is time for you to do the same. Your troubled emotions surrounding Anakin’s nightmares are far greater than his.” 

Mace’s words hit hard. Obi-wan knows he’s right. 

“Take time to see Master Che, as well. A few mind healing sessions will do you much good, Obi-wan,” he adds, his expression softening. 

Obi-wan nods. “Yes, Master Windu. I will.” 

…….

Anakin sits in the cockpit of their freighter as they drift in the middle of nowhere, waiting for their contact to arrive so they can collect their laughable earnings and get on their way. Obi-wan paces in the back of the ship, Anakin can sense him through the force, dark and brooding. 

He is still shaken. Anakin never realized how much his world revolved around Obi-wan until now. Actually, he was all he had. Without him he’d be alone in the galaxy with nowhere to go, being one of the most wanted fugitives in charted space What kind of life was that, really? 

A lonely one. 

Obi-was was distant as long as he could remember- not without his moments of kindness. It always felt like there was a world separating them, a world of things Anakin would never understand. The man had been branded a hermit back in the Jedi Temple and Anakin was glad to have him- the odd Master that no one understood like he did. Not that he truly understood him at all. It never hit him until now, just how much he didn’t know about Obi-wan. 

Right now, the not knowing scared him. Anakin wanted to claim insanity, to ignore his premonition and act like it never happened- like Obi-wan hadn’t just tried to kill himself with Anakin’s  _ own  _ lightsaber. After that, he couldn’t trust him.

It felt silly, the aching betrayal that burned in his chest, but that didn’t make it go away. Maybe it was a selfish thought- and he  _ knew  _ it was- but he couldn’t help but think it. 

_ Why would you take my Master away from me?  _

It was childish- embarrassingly juvenile. He could never ask, never even hint that he felt that way. Anakin wracked his brain trying to come up with some way to talk to Obi-wan about the incident and came up empty-handed. 

A ship finally appears, dropping out of hyperspace and hailing them. 

“They’re here,” Anakin shouts down the hallway. Obi-wan rushes to the helm, his dark, tired eyes staring out the viewport at the small ship scuttling towards them. 

“Excellent, I’ll handle this. You can go get some rest, or  _ whatever. _ ” Obi-wan huffs, waving Anakin away. 

He’s anxious, it’s obvious. Anakin can feel it in his aura as he stands by the doorway while Obi-wan takes the helm, firing the thrusters to meet the other ship halfway. 

“Are you just going to stand there watching me or are you going to  _ kriff off? _ ” Obi-wan growls, his shoulders tense. 

“Don’t forget.  _ Half. _ ” Anakin reminds him, walking away before the man could come back with some smart, snide remark. 

Would things always be like this? Would they ever get better? Would Obi-wan sort himself out or would he resort to something else- something more permanent? Anakin still sees it clearly as if it had actually happened and shudders, trying to purge the memory altogether. 

…….

Obi-wan’s nerves are more than frayed and tattered, they are nearly burnt out of existence. He can’t remember the last time he’s slept peacefully, but he knows he needs to badly. Meditation isn’t cutting it because he’s unable to truly meditate- not since they picked up this last job, if you could call it that. 

Everything is falling apart. It feels like his life has been deconstructing itself in slow motion over these last two months- and it’s only getting worse. He’s aware there’s irreversible damage, he knows that it’s all his fault. 

There was no other way to put it- he’s unstable. Everything is survival for him and any question of right or wrong feels secondary; irrelevant. Of course it’s far from irrelevant and he’s paying for that now. He’ll continue to pay for it until he manages to mend things with Anakin-  _ if  _ he can. 

Does he  _ want  _ to kill himself? Really, his brash action had been just as shocking to Anakin as it was to himself. The idea was a familiar one- he’d mulled it over more than once during his life. These last two months he can’t deny he’s wanted to escape reality, but was death the answer? He didn’t  _ feel  _ like he wanted to die, but it was hard to deny the reality of his own actions. 

Obi-wan pulses the thrusters again, nearly able to dock with the approaching ship. His side aches and he feels the stitches weep, dark crimson bleeding through his clothes. His thoughts shift from regrets to burning rage as the disk burns a hole through his pocket. 

He wants to destroy it out of spite, but he restrains himself. This has not been a day for moderation and the last thing he wants is another regret hanging over him- especially not when the stakes are so high. The adjacent ship begins docking procedures and Obi-wan does as well. The hull shudders as the lock is engaged and the gangway is pressurized. 

Obi-wan’s heart pounds in his chest, a mix of panic and anger. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner they can leave and get on with their lives. He cases through the airlock and into the other ship. A smiling face greets him and Obi-wan feels himself fuming with rage. 

“You better make this quick,” Obi-wan demands, his fists nearly shaking at his sides. “You first.” 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Vos chides, his smile shaded with worry. His eyes crease with wrinkles at the edges. He’s gotten older since they last met. He looks it, too. 

Once upon a time Obi-wan would have been overjoyed to catch up with the man, but that seemed like another life to him now. Not wanting to entertain such shallow pleasantries Obi-wan’s glare darkens, motivating the Jedi to hurry. “Ok ok ok, straight to business then. You have the disk?”

“Do  _ you? _ ” Obi-wan nearly snarls. 

Vos pulls a small case from his utility belt, a holodisk enclosed within. He opens the shell and shows it to him, not letting Obi-wan get too close.

“Your turn." 

“Not so fast. How do I know you haven’t made copies?” Obi-wan asks, his skin cringing. He feels vulnerable just  _ looking  _ at the disk. The idea of what it holds turns his stomach. 

“It’s a genuine original. Theta encryption makes it impossible to copy. You have my word, Obi-wan. I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

Vos’s eyes are open and honest. His aura is welcoming as he invites Obi-wan to search him to affirm his authenticity. He narrows his eyes in response instead, brushing off the man’s gesture. 

“Now, the disk,” Vos says, his hand outstretched. 

Obi-wan pulls it from his pocket and hands it over, quickly retrieving the other disk in return. Relief floods him along with waves of dread that threaten to overtake him any moment. He needs sleep, needs rest, he can barely function. Not with this stress that feels like the weight of ten worlds on his shoulders. 

“And the credits?” Obi-wan says, cocking his head to the side as he stows away his cursed prize. 

Vos heaves a sigh, tossing him a velvet bag from his belt. “It’s all I could manage. It’s a little bit more than the original offer, but not much. I don’t have a wide margin as far as operating costs are concerned. The Council would ask questions if I spent any more than I already have.” 

“In charge of covert operations and they still have you making weekly reports? Just like the Council- so appallingly dated and obsolete,” Obi-wan sneers. “Do they make you turn in receipts for spice shipments, too?” 

“Listen Obi-wan, I’m going out of my way to help you. Do you know what kind of shit I would be in if they even had the slightest idea of how I've helped you? And  _ not  _ just with this. I'm in deep- just as deep as you if they ever find out,” Vos says, his mouth twisted in a frown, the golden stripe across his face pulling down with it. 

“Don’t sully your conscience,” Obi-wan taunts, mockingly. “And don’t confuse blackmail with  _ benevolence, _ ” he adds sharply. 

“I’m helping you against my better judgment. That disk,” Vos nods towards Obi-wan’s pocket, “could help bring a lot of people justice- _ you _ included. It’s not blackmail- it’s a  _ work trade. _ ” 

Obi-wan laughs- a deep, genuine roar of laughter. In the next breath he grips at his side, feeling the stitches pull and bleed. “Justice?” He continues to laugh despite the pain, still clutching at his side. 

“You should know as well as I do, there isn’t such a thing. The only justice that exists is the justice we exact  _ ourselves. _ ” 

Vos looks at him with sad, sorry eyes. It makes Obi-wan’s skin burn as rage festers inside of him. He can’t stand that look- can’t stand seeing pity in the eyes of others. 

“If you truly disagreed with me you wouldn’t have given this to me. But you do agree. It’s why you gave me the list back then, and it’s why you’re giving me this now,” Obi-wan declares. 

Vos shakes his head and Obi-wan laughs again. “You’re conflicted, it’s obvious. Be careful around the Council. It won’t be long before they see it in you, too. That you’ve given up on them as well.” 

“Nothing is so simple anymore. It never has been, but with this war-” 

“-That the republic created and the Jedi Order approves. I’m sure it’s very just- how innocent people die left and right over resources for no reason other than greed and power. And you want to talk to  _ me  _ about justice,” Obi-wan scoffs. 

A sharp pain lances his side and he gasps, pulling his hand away from his side he sees blood on his palm. 

“You’re injured- I can fix you up, I've been practicing,” Vos suggests brushing past their confrontation. 

“No, I’ll be fine,” Obi-wan insists. Honestly he is more than tempted to take Vos up on his offer but if he did Anakin would know that he hadn’t been doing business with a Senator at all- but a Jedi. That, along with many other related topics, Obi-wan would go to great lengths to avoid discussing with him. Anakin was better for not knowing, or so he told himself. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I said I’ll be fine,” Obi-wan says, moving back towards the airlock.

“Oh, just one last thing,” he turns halfway, glancing at Vos over his shoulder. 

“If you ever blackmail me again, you won’t live long enough to regret it. I would say it was nice to do business with you, but, you know.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Anakin sits ruefully in his corner of the cantina as noise drones on all around him. He bathes in it- the loud drunken cries, bouts of uncontrollable laughter, angry shouting and the thin whine of music beneath it all. No matter what world they might visit to refuel, resupply and rest, the cantinas were all the same. Usually, the rowdy atmosphere felt comforting; a welcome escape. Tonight he can’t bring himself to feel any respite from anything at all. 

He brings his mug to his lips and the bitter brew sloshes, trickling down his chin. It was rare for Obi-wan to indulge him with his presence in these outings though the invitation was always made. Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever been so rudely dismissed as he was tonight. 

He shouldn’t take it personally. He knows Obi-wan hasn’t quite been himself these last two months and that taking his words to heart is a foolish thing to do. Knowing that doesn’t help. He has difficulty making light of Obi-wan’s abrasive remarks in better times, and right now he can’t get out from under them. More than hurt, he’s afraid. He doesn’t feel comfortable leaving Obi-wan to his own devices.

Typically to conserve their credits they would share a room. Tonight Obi-wan opted to take his own with some snide comment about everything being split evenly from now on. Anakin knows their last job was particularly taxing on the man but he doesn’t understand  _ why.  _ He supposes he never will. 

Obi-wan had been pushing him away, little by little, for a very long time. Anakin forced himself to accept it, to accept his Master as he was. He tried to ignore the closeness his heart craved with some measure of success. There were moments where the thought struck him- how odd it was that the one man who knew him better than anyone else could feel so distant. He’s lived his entire life at Obi-wan’s side and still, he feels like a stranger. 

The more Anakin thinks about it, the lonelier he feels. 

It wasn’t always like this. He recalls a time when his Master felt closer- not that he’d ever been  _ close,  _ but less distant at least. Some of his earliest memories were of Obi-wan holding him as he fell asleep, warding off the nightmares that used to plague him. As the memory surfaces his heart aches. He has a hard time reconciling the fact that the Master he remembers and the Obi-wan he knows are one and the same.

Anakin downs the rest of his drink and signals the barkeep for another. 

Out of all the worlds they could resupply at, Nar Shaddaa was the most bountiful. With a surplus of weapons, munitions, medical supplies and fuel all at relatively fair prices, it was the perfect place-  _ especially  _ because it was outside Republic space. He never understood why Obi-wan hated the world, but he hated it rather openly. Being low on fuel they had little chance to go elsewhere since this was the closest spaceport from the meeting with their underpaying Senator.

This time Obi-wan had been particularly cross about having to make landfall here. Anakin hoped a couple of drinks would loosen him up, maybe help him sleep better. Of course his thoughts on the matter held no sway over the man’s actions. 

This time the bartender brings Anakin two mugs instead of one. He’s lost track of how many he’s had, his mind is elsewhere. More bitter, malty liquid washes down his throat, making his body feel warm and his heart ache. 

He feels alone- more alone than he’s ever felt in his life. It was always just the two of them as long as he can remember. Even when they lived in the Temple with hundreds and thousands of supposed brothers and sisters, it was just him and Obi-wan. 

_ Father, brother, friend.  _ Obi-wan is none of these things. At the same time, Obi-wan is everything. Everything and nothing. More than a friend, certainly a mentor but the word doesn’t seem to accurately encompass what exists between them...

Titles are meaningless, Anakin decides. Nothing can really describe the bond they share or the pain he feels for being pushed so far away. He doesn’t even understand it himself. 

Anakin tries to think of the last time he’s seen the man smile, the last time he didn’t cringe away from a hug, the last time he’s said anything that wasn’t brimming with spite and anger. He searches the frothy mug of ale between his palms for an answer. 

He can’t remember. 

The start of panic rises inside of him as he downs the rest of his mug and moves on to the next. Anakin wants so much to fix him, he doesn’t know how. He sees Obi-wan beneath him, his eyes empty and feral at the same time. The world moves in slow motion as the man’s hand clasps around Anakin’s saber, the blade jutting out and burning straight through him. 

Anakin can almost smell the char and ozone, hear his Master’s last gasp and the sizzle of flesh against his saber. His breath catches and he cinches his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the thought. It’s his own fault, isn’t it? He’s failing Obi-wan in some way. How else did it come to this? 

The two mugs stare up at him from the table, both empty now. His stomach feels sick- from distress or alcohol or both, he doesn’t know. 

His fingers fumble for his com, hailing Obi-wan’s frequency. He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t- and if he did, what would he even say to him? He doesn’t know that, either. 

…….

Obi-wan adjusts his tunics as they step through into the lift. Anakin’s nightmares have all but gone since his sessions with Vokara Che and for the first time, Obi-wan feels hope. Maybe it is possible to escape from one’s past. He wants badly for Anakin to live without that burden, only slightly envious of the boy’s lapse in memory. 

“I don’t understand why our presence here is necessary, Master,” Anakin huffs. “We should be somewhere else, doing something  _ important. _ ”

“Diplomacy is one of the most important functions of a Jedi, young one,” he gently reprimands. “Without it there would be chaos.” 

“If you say so, Master.” 

“Just keep your ears and mind open. It may seem boring but there is much to learn,” Obi-wan assures his student. 

The lift stops and they are greeted by a Senatorial aide with a bright, youthful smile on her face. “Master Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker, this way,” she says with a swoop of her arm.

Still looking bored as ever, Anakin trails after them. It’s not that he’s misbehaved or displaying a poor attitude, but Anakin has always held a strong proclivity towards action and dire situations. An onlooker would never know the boy felt impatient at all, but Obi-wan could feel it through their bond. There was little Anakin could hide well from him. 

The aide leads them into a deliberation chamber. A large, ovular table sits in the center with uncomfortable chairs circling its perimeter. Obi-wan takes one and Anakin settles beside him. Five others sit at the table, skimming through news on holopads or idly thumbing at the hem of their sleeves waiting for the meeting to start. 

“Now that you’ve joined us, we may begin,” the leading Senator says. 

The group rattles off their introductions and negotiations begin. Largely, a Jedi presence is customary though not always necessary. They are meant to help resolve any talk that might have reached an impasse. Obi-wan meant what he said about diplomacy and Anakin having much to learn, but he did agree with the boy’s sentiment. This was about the most droll assignment for any Jedi, but not one you could refuse. 

Obi-wan’s eyes intently study the faces of the Senators as they speak, hearing their concerns silently. Mostly his gaze goes without notice for all but one. There was something vaguely familiar about him but Obi-wan couldn’t place it. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but the man’s growing unrest seems out of place.

Less than an hour into the session it dawns on him, and Obi-wan can’t believe he didn’t realize it sooner. The revelation sparks in his chest and suddenly he feels sick, though he calls out to the force to aid him. All he can do is focus on maintaining composure. He knows Anakin can feel it, his worried eyes glance between him and whoever is talking at the time. 

Time seems to slow around them but Obi-wan knows it’s just an illusion. He’s fading, the world around him becoming further and further away. Retreating inside himself like this is a hardwired reflex, learned through the years and years of hell he’s been through. 

Suddenly all eyes in the room fall to him. He’s calm on the outside, detached. He’s perfected the art of dissociation, he  _ knows  _ he has. The only one in the room that might understand how he feels at all is Anakin, sensing him through their bond. No doubt someone had asked him a question and he missed it, too muddled by his own thoughts. 

“Master?” Anakin asks, his eyes wide and worried. 

Obi-wan feels rage boil inside him for his Padawan’s expression.  _ Pity, concern,  _ all things that he’d seen in the eyes of the Council before- things he couldn’t stand to see directed towards himself. It made his skin crawl, his chest burn, and he was already adrift, disconnected from reality. 

  
“I’ll have to confer with the Council and get back to you,” Obi-wan says smoothly, rising from his chair, not knowing what the question was at all and not caring to ask for it to be restated. Anakin stands and follows him as he quickly exits the room. 

Obi-wan feels his heart race as they get further from the chamber and he holds himself back from running as fast as he can, away from this place. He settles for walking at a brisk pace, which Anakin struggles to keep up with. Rage and fear dance inside him, battling for space in his chest. Phantom body aches nag in the back of his mind as he tries hard to stay tethered to the moment. He looks down at his arms and wrists nearly expecting to see blood and track marks, hardly relieved when he sees healthy, unmarked flesh instead. 

“Master?” Anakin asks, his clear blue eyes even more worried than they were before. 

Obi-wan wants to scream, cry, pummel his fists against the wall until they crack and bleed. He does none of these things. 

“You are free for the rest of the day. I’m going to go get some rest. I’m not feeling too well,” Obi-wan states in stale monotone. 

Anakin’s eyes only lit up for a second before they darkened again. Clearly his joy for having free time paled in comparison to his concern for his Master. It would have warmed Obi-wan’s heart had he not been so consumed by his own whirlwind of emotions. 

“I’ll take a nap with you,” Anakin suggests with the purest of intent. 

“You’re not a  _ youngling,  _ Anakin, you will do no such thing,” Obi-wan scoffs bitterly. He sees his Padawan wilt with embarrassment at the words but doesn’t apologize. The last thing he wants is someone pitying him, and he can’t help but see pity in Anakin’s eyes. It’s not that he wants to shame him but it’s preferable to feeling weak in the eyes of others, especially that of his own Padawan. 

They step through into the lift in silence, Anakin’s eyes glued to the floor. Obi-wan wants to say something but is incapable of saying anything at all. Silence is best, right now, he decides. Silence is best. 

…….

Obi-wan tosses and turns, searching for sleep, finding none. The noise of the city outside grates on his patience. They should have just shared a room, they might have been able to afford a quieter location that way, but no. Obi-wan had to be insistent, had to be obstinate. He was bitter and volatile and he was taking it out on Anakin, on himself. He was doing himself no favors by indulging the venom he felt building inside his chest, but he almost couldn’t help it. 

He thought if he could get one uninterrupted night's sleep he would be able to feel better, be able to function better, be able to repair some of the damage he’s done to his relationship with Anakin. So far even his best intentions eluded him. 

The disc sits on the table beside the squealing, uncomfortable sleeper that complains with every move he makes. He wants to crush the thing to bits but can’t bring himself to do it. He isn’t strong enough to watch the footage, isn’t strong enough to break the thing in half. He doesn’t want to  _ touch  _ it, but he can’t keep it out of his sight. It feels as if the thing might grow legs and walk away if he doesn’t have it on or near him. 

He thought finally having it himself, knowing it was no longer in someone else's hands, might have helped him rest easier. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. It’s clear to him now that the closer he got to the disc, the more of a curse it became. 

“Why don’t we just go out and forget all about these last two months?” Anakin said, smiling, making some half-hearted joke about alcohol and its ability to edit one's memories. His eyes were sad, so sad and full of pity and fear. He could feel the man grasping at straws, trying to fix the growing chasm between them. 

All Obi-wan could feel was bitterness for it. A part of him ached, a tortured piece of his heart that somehow still had the capacity to something, anything at all aside from the anger that seemed to fester inside of him constantly. Obi-wan didn’t remember his response, he was too sleep deprived, not in his right mind. He  _ did  _ remember the heartbroken look on Anakin’s face as he turned away from him, trudging towards the bar down the street. 

It hurts him, he doesn’t want to treat Anakin that way. He doesn’t know why he can’t help himself. He should be stronger than all of this but he isn’t. He’s weighed down by too many things that haunt him, by the disc that seems to stare at him no matter how much he tries to forget it. 

Anakin tried hailing his com a little while ago. Obi-wan ignored it, of course. The last thing he needs is Anakin making him feel  _ more  _ guilty. He doesn’t really want to die, he tells himself, not  _ really.  _ But the thought of going to sleep and never waking back up to this reality feels like a refreshing one. 

Obi-wan can’t bring himself to tears over the thought but the hollow of his chest aches. He knows it’s a selfish thing to think- he wouldn’t act on that thought, would he? No- he has too many obligations, he’s too much of a coward to do it anyways. But at that moment he did want it but he didn’t understand why. Anakin graduating from his Apprenticeship should be a happy thing, not something he has to literally  _ fight  _ for.

He can’t explain why he feels afraid for it- for Anakin breaking out onto his own. He  _ should  _ be happy, but he’s not. He feels cynical- it’s nothing new but the depth of it is frightening, descending into apathy, into crippling numbness. It makes him angry, he wants to take it out on anyone close enough to feel hurt. Anyone who might feel just a fraction of what he feels all the time- at least for the last two months. But it’s been longer than that, hasn’t it? It has. He’s been slowly descending into madness for years now, he can’t deny it. 

Anakin is the last person in the galaxy that he wants to hurt. He wants to give him everything, he deserves so much more than the life he’s shown him. That thought just brings more guilt that he tries to escape but he can’t. The burden of it crushes him. His heart, for how numb it usually feels, wakes up with gut wrenching grief. All of the atrophy inside his soul turns to pain. It’s all he feels. For the first time in more years than he can remember, he feels his eyes wet with tears. 

Just like always the pain comes in waves. It passes just as swiftly as it rose up to begin with and he’s left numb again. He lifts a hand to feel the tears on his face- proof that he can feel, though he doesn’t really  _ want  _ to. 

Anakin should just leave him. He would be better off without him. The thought pulls in his chest again, reminding him what it’s like to feel. If only he could feel something other than the anguish that rests inside his soul, or the numbness he feels it its stead. 

Obi-wan tosses again, trying to find a comfortable position but failing. The noise outside gets worse, sirens wailing as police cruisers fly past the building. City ambiance is anything but. 

Suddenly the door handle to his room jostles as someone tries to open it. 

“Obi-wan,” Anakin all but whines, “let me in.” 

“Go to your own room, Anakin,” Obi-wan groans, heaving a sigh. If only sleep would come to him. 

“Let me in,  _ please, _ ” Anakin begs, his voice unsteady, sounding on the edge of tears. Obi-wan feels a surge of panic. With a wave of his hand he releases the latch and Anakin comes stumbling through the door, nearly falling over. 

“What happened?” Obi-wan demands, his mind running through a list of worst case scenarios where Anakin is victimized in any number of ways. 

Anakin shakes his head as he climbs onto the sleeper next to him, huddling under the covers against his side. His clothes are damp and he reeks of alcohol. His breathing hitches in an attempt to stave off tears.

Obi-wan is angry that Anakin won’t speak to him. He’s frightened, he needs to know the reason for his distress. He feels grief leaching from his aura and damp, cold arms cinching around his shoulders as Anakin buries his head in the crook of his neck. 

“Anakin-”

“ _ Don’t leave me, _ ” Anakin mumbles drunkenly, shifting to wrap his legs around one of Obi-wan’s so he’s as close to him as he can possibly be. It’s been years since he let anyone get this close to him. 

“What?”

All anger immediately turns to confusion and Obi-wan feels his heart soften. He turns onto his side to face him but Anakin huddles against him even more, avoiding his gaze. Anakin takes a staggered breath before he speaks again, this time quieter than the last. 

“ _ Why do you want to die? _ ”

The words tear right through him. He doesn’t know what to say. Obi-wan knows the answer, but he doesn’t really know either. He can’t possibly put words to his feelings, to describe the prison he lives in- the prison of existence. But he doesn’t want to die, he  _ can’t.  _ Anakin has always been his reason to live. 

“ _ I-I can’t live without you, Master, _ ” Anakin cries, “ _ Pl-please stay. _ ” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll stay, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into Anakin’s curls. His heart overflows with shame. There is no excuse for his actions. He hates being the reason for Anakin’s tears. He’s usually so sturdy and well-put-together, seeing him like this is difficult- especially knowing he can only blame himself. 

“ _ Promise, _ ” Anakin weeps. “ _ Please Master, promise.”  _

Obi-wan gently takes Anakin’s face between his palms and pulls back enough to look him in his tear swollen eyes. He wants to tell him how much he’s saved him already, how he could  _ never  _ leave him, even though Anakin would be better off if he did. 

“I swear to you Anakin, I will  _ never  _ leave you.  _ Never _ ,” he vows, struggling to keep his voice steady. He wants nothing more than to go back in time and change everything- make Anakin’s graduation from his apprenticeship a joyful moment instead of a traumatic one, to tell him how proud he was of him. Anakin is far more skilled, smarter, braver- better than him in nearly every way he could be. How could he not be proud? 

Obi-wan failed as a Master- just as much as he failed at being a Jedi Knight or Padawan. He’s just an imposter of all the things he’s ever sought to be. Anakin deserves better. Obi-wan gazes back into the man’s tearful blue eyes with crushing regret. 

Why isn’t he better than this? Why can’t he do even one thing right? 

“I saw what you were going to do-” Anakin chokes. Obi-wan can feel his aura storm with grief and heartache as the memory plays in his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-wan mumbles. They’re both crying now. Obi-wan can’t remember even one time he’s ever let Anakin see him cry. “I don’t know what to say, I’m just so  _ sorry, _ ” he breathes, all but breaking. “I’ll be better, I  _ promise. _ ” 

Anakin shakes his head, his brows pinching as he frowns. Obi-wan can tell that there are things he wants to say that remain unspoken. He doesn’t think he could stomach the words if they did find their way from Anakin’s lips. He feels the painful resonance between both their broken, bleeding hearts. It’s reassuring and equally torturous to feel such a thing. Anakin doesn’t deserve this pain, doesn’t deserve a broken Master.

Obi-wan gathers his tearful student in his arms and Anakin readily nestles up under his chin, desperate for the contact. He’s always kept his distance from him- and everyone else too- but that chasm between them only widened as Anakin grew older. Right now Obi-wan can’t fathom pushing the man away, can’t understand why it’s all he’s done for years now.

Anakin shudders, his tears soaking through Obi-wan’s tunic onto his skin. He closes his eyes and begins to hum a simple tune- one of the lullabies Creche Masters sing to the younglings when they can’t sleep at night. Anakin never spent a single day in the Creche but everyone in the temple knows the tune, and although they have both been away from the temple for years now it’s impossible for either of them to forget. It reminds Obi-wan of simpler times and soothes both of them from their tears into a more peaceful state, where sleep is very, very near. 

  
Exhausted from crying, from staying up for weeks-  _ months  _ straight, from years without having a single restful night's sleep, Obi-wan realizes just how tired he is just as sleep comes for him. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t fight its embrace. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> Hope you are all doing well <3  
> Thank you again for the comments and kudos, it means the world!
> 
> Blu3
> 
> -Past rape/non-con and sexual assault referenced in this chapter, non-graphic-

Their ship ghosts along bright white starlines as they travel through the void of hyperspace. Silence falls between them and for the first time in a long time it’s not oppressive but peaceful- although admittedly misplaced. Anakin can’t bring himself to say a word for fear he might break the faux serenity that graces the moment, though he knows he should say  _ something _ . 

Obi-wan took the liberty of accepting another job without his consent and it was going to pay just about as well as the last, which was not well at all. Anakin wouldn’t have declined it if he had been asked, though he would have appreciated the gesture. He needs to establish himself as an equal in Obi-wan’s eyes, he doesn’t want to give the impression he’s going to be easily trampled or manipulated. Anakin feels like that is going to be harder to achieve than it ought, especially with his own emotions getting in the way, skewing his objectivity. 

The phantom of Obi-wan’s arms still wrap around him. He feels the man’s chest against his skin and the shallow drumming beneath. That beautiful, pained voice, twisted with tears sings sweetly to him from the back of his mind. After years of neglect it feels like vindication. He knows it to be true but he can’t quite come to terms with the fact that Obi-wan showed more emotion in the span of minutes than he had the entire time he’s known him. 

The memory is hazed by drunkenness but not so far out of resolution that he can’t recall it with gut wrenching detail. The scent of his skin, the warmth of his embrace. The stark lucidity of Obi-wan’s emotions, unfurled and open like a rare flower that blooms once a millennium. Anakin wonders if he will be allowed to gaze into his depths ever again- the deep ocean and all the things hidden inside Obi-wan’s heart and mind. 

A vague, ephemeral emptiness permeated the space between them. It has always been there, gnawing and aching, though mostly it fell out of awareness. Anakin can remember a handful of fleeting moments just as sparse as they were epiphanous, where he was able to grasp what was missing though he lacked words for it at the time. Even now as he finds himself piecing it together in a more tangible way, the proper linguistics elude him. Words, perhaps, are inadequate to express what he feels. 

As the thing takes shape in his mind it composes itself of emotions and needs that he still can’t entirely make sense of. He finds comfort in clarity, in knowing how  _ right  _ it felt to lay in Obi-wan’s arms. Feeling his heart open and another open in return was assuaging- soothing things inside of him he’d never known were ailing until they weren’t anymore. 

It isn’t just physical proximity that he craves, though he won’t compromise the prospect of it for anything, certainly not for his own ego’s sake. In the future he will be more stubborn, he assures himself. For now he wants to enjoy the rare euphony of peace between them. 

“So, what’s this cargo we’re transporting?”

“Bacta,” Obi-wan offers in a calm, level voice. Anakin halfway expected the harsh or cutting tone he’d become used to over the last two months. One full night’s sleep seemed to be exactly what he needed. Or maybe it was more than that, maybe he needed exactly what Anakin craved. Closeness, no barriers, no walls, no sarcastic, biting comments. 

“We’re picking up from a small warehouse on Cyrkon and transporting to an outpost on Tatooine.” 

“Cyrkon? Meaning it’s a stolen shipment,” Anakin says, feigning disapproval.

“Why, of course,” Obi-wan answers, offering a slight grin. 

“Should be easy enough, not too risky,” Anakin comments, hiding his true concern well enough for the man to look past it or miss it altogether. Obi-wan is in no condition to participate in a shoot out or saber fight, not with his wound still on the mend. 

“Just about as low risk as it gets,” Obi-wan says dryly. “When we arrive, you can oversee the cargo transfer and I’ll handle the details,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Anakin feels a slight simmer of frustration rise inside him. He tries to quash it the moment it sparks but he can’t entirely get rid of it- another nagging, pest of an emotion. Resentment is an ugly thing to feel but he can’t help but feel it. He wants to feel close but he also wants to feel  _ seen  _ and despite last night’s blue moon indulgence of physical contact right now he feels neither. Obi-wan’s passive order is enough to tip the scales of Anakin’s patience against them both. 

Right now Obi-wan seems stable, but how long until he isn’t? How long before they inevitably clash again and he spirals into self destructive territory? Can Anakin afford to defer the conversation to a later date? A better time may never present itself. Theoretically it was better to deal with issues as they presented, rather than let them build and fester. 

_ Theoretically.  _

Anakin’s palms are damp with sweat and his stomach fills with dread as he anticipates bringing confrontation between them. It’s not  _ him  _ creating conflict, he’s merely trying to handle it before it gets out of hand. That may be the truth but it won’t matter if Obi-wan isn’t able to see it that way, which Anakin knows will be the case though he hopes otherwise. 

“Obi-wan,” Anakin begins, his voice solemn. Already he can see the man’s shoulders stiffen as walls rise between them. 

“What, Anakin?” Obi-wan bites back, barbs returning to his aura to ward off anyone who might try to get too close. For a moment he feels it’s a wonder he’d ever been able to penetrate those defenses at all. How he’d ever been privy to see those eyes red with tears is beyond him. It feels like a hopeless prospect now and his heart aches for the loss. 

“...Nothing, sorry- lost my train of thought,” Anakin mutters. It’s a total outright lie. Obi-wan knows it too, and chooses not to pursue it. Instead he shrugs with what looks like indifference and turns his gaze back to the viewport with a bored, unamused expression. 

Anakin curses internally, wondering how it is possible to utter less than a sentence and botch things between them already. With most of the job still lying ahead of them, another pull of dread tugs at his stomach. He has the sneaking suspicion things are going to get worse before they get better. 

…….

Obi-wan sits in a heap on the floor of his quarters. It’s well past midnight. His room is in shambles- broken lamps and ripped bedsheets thrown every which way. The mirror in the fresher is shattered, broken bits of it pressed into his bleeding knuckles and strewn across the tile floor. 

Shame sits heavy in his chest. He shouldn’t have given in to the rage, shouldn’t have lashed out like he did but it was too late to take it back now. His eyes are rimmed red, swollen from hours of crying, his throat hoarse from screaming. Anakin has been gone all day and is still gone,  _ thank the force,  _ or else he would have heard the ragged cries and violence coming from his Master’s quarters. That’s the last thing he needed. 

He’s tired, absolutely exhausted. He’s shaking- not just from exertion but from anger, from the disgust he feels for his own flesh. Obi-wan looks at his hands, at the crusted red flakes that form around glistening rivulets of blood, looks at his clothes, seeing them sullied with the stuff. Inside he’s broken- razed down to nothing but an aching, bleeding pulp, formless and without constitution. He can feel the ghosts of hands on him, torturous phantoms of times past that claw at him again, wanting to take their pound of flesh for the hundredth time.

When he locked eyes with that monster he knew, he could see it in his ghastly reflection there. That Senator saw him how he had once seen him- drugged and fettered and spread open for whomever it pleased, to use and consume until there was nothing left. 

There is nothing left inside him now, just a barren empty husk. It’s wretchedly sick, but Obi-wan finds himself in the grips of laughter, deep and unrelenting. Everything he’d built, everything he’d reclaimed and worked for had been taken from him, stolen from that Senator with a simple glance. Everything he thought he’d become since his Master’s passing no longer existed. 

_ His Master’s passing.  _ Yes, he still referred to it as that, though it was just as misleading and inaccurate as everything else in his life. It rolled off the tongue much better than-  _ his Master’s inevitable murder at the hands of his own Padawan.  _ The Council had been benevolent enough to bury the truth of Qui-gon’s nature and all the hell he subjected him to for the sake of attempted normalcy. To Obi-wan it was beside the fact that if the truth became public knowledge it would shatter the Order’s image. It was enough to just put it behind him. 

To say the truth took too much explaining, required more words than he was capable of forcing from his tongue. It brought memories to the surface that he wanted nothing more than to forget. 

Obi-wan is supposed to be a wise Master, lighting the path for his own Padawan. Knowing that only makes this catatonic stupor feel more paralyzing. Even from his grave Jinn haunts him, always finding the right words to hurt him with, again and again. 

_ You’re no Knight. You’re a glorified slave who has forgotten his place.  _

That’s all that Senator saw- just a Slave wearing Jedi robes, speaking like a Jedi, but it was all just for show. It was all anyone saw when they looked at him. All he can see when he looks in the mirror. 

Years and countless sessions with the mind healers along with the devout practice of letting go of his troublesome emotions into the force had built him a delicate existence that he’d mistaken for a real life. The trauma had just been waiting for him in the deepest, darkest spaces of his mind, patiently biding time until it was unleashed. And now it was- rampaging through his mind, shattering the counterfeit life he’d created. He now sees himself with what feels like true pellucidity- he sees an empty shell, something made with the sole purpose of being used by others as they saw fit. 

That’s all his Master had ever done, all the Jedi had ever done. All of them had been glad to tell him exactly what to do, who to be, how to act, how to  _ feel.  _ Because of it he is nothing-  _ no one.  _

Baleful resolve takes hold inside his mind- one that he thinks may be his first original thought since he was a youngling. It wasn’t truly resolve, so much as it was the vivid, intoxicating image of that Senator dead and bloodied, no longer able to hurt anyone ever again. No longer able to damn him with his cursed gaze. 

After he thinks about it he can’t stop thinking about it. Obi-wan looks down at his hands again, covered in his own blood. His whole life, so many have taken pieces of him one way or another, never once caring about the cost he was always left to pay. Years of service, sweat, and suffering under heedless Masters to whom he ultimately meant nothing to, aside from what he could give, provide, or what could be taken. Even at a glance, his whole life could crumble. He can’t do it anymore. 

…….

The cargo hold is stacked to the ceiling with crates of bacta, pushing their little freighter to its limit. The hull shudders under the burden, not inspiring any confidence in its integrity. Feeling doubtful of the ship's ability to remain functional, Anakin stays awake, pacing the halls and forgoing sleep. 

Obi-wan might have thought to confer with him before accepting the job. He didn’t know they would be at max capacity till the hold was already loaded. The ship was in need of several repairs that he would have seen to while they were still on Nar Shaddaa, had he known- but he didn’t know. Despite everything, he was still the Padawan- the  _ apprentice _ . 

He doesn’t want to make it an issue. He tells himself the next mission will be different, he’ll put his foot down  _ then.  _ Obi-wan needed time to adjust. He tries to ignore the fact that they could very easily end up stranded in the middle of dead space for days if not weeks. They would lose out on their payday, end up over their heads in operating costs. They would be destitute, forced to accept any job regardless of their conscience. That was not a place Anakin liked to be. And all for what? The sake of Obi-wan’s wounded ego? 

Anakin paces to the helm again and lingers in the threshold, hands stretching overhead against the cold steel framework. He sees Obi-wan in a shallow meditation, reclining in the co-pilot's chair.

He’s a beautiful man, really, not that Anakin had ever taken too much time to look. His rich auburn hair tied up in a bun, the well kept beard that hid his boyish chin and dimples when he smiled, the freckles that peppered his nose and cheeks. Undeniably beautiful, Anakin realizes, wondering how he never noticed before. 

No, it isn’t just Obi-wan’s ego- it’s something much deeper than that- though evidently something in the man is unmistakably wounded. Growing up he’d never seen it clearly for what it was, but now it may as well have been painted on his face. Something inside the man is broken. Anakin isn’t surprised by his reaction when he finds himself wanting to fix it, fix  _ him.  _

His penchant for fixing broken things is congenital to a fault, and he’s never done well resisting the urge. 

There were whispers in the temple he’d heard during his time there, stories about Obi-wan killing his own Master. Anakin never believed it- hadn’t even given a single thought towards the possibility and he still doesn’t. Obi-wan isn’t a murderer, he doesn’t have it in him. Younglings always needed something to whisper and gossip about, and who better to conjure stories of than the most reclusive Jedi Knight in the temple?

Murder isn’t on the list of secrets, Anakin is sure, but he knows there is  _ something.  _ Or a lot of somethings. The image of Obi-wan impaling himself with Anakin’s saber flashes behind his lids again and he heaves a breath, purging the image until the next time it inevitably comes to mind. 

It isn’t just sleep deprivation that drove him to it- it’s the nightmares that prefaced that, and whatever came before the nightmares. Anakin wants so badly to know what came before those, but knows he will  _ never  _ know. 

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” Obi-wan says plainly, eyes still closed. 

“Huh? No, I wasn’t-” Anakin trips over words, suddenly and acutely aware of how intently he was studying the man’s features- enough to be noticed. A warmth rises over his cheeks, turning his porcelain skin a rosy pink. He feels helplessly childish, like he’s just been caught sneaking pastries from the Master’s tea lounge. 

“Yes, you  _ were _ ,” Obi-wan insists, unamused. “Is there something on your mind?”

Anakin still flounders, struggling to compose himself, to present his thoughts in a way that won’t make him out to be the Padawan Obi-wan still thinks of him as. It’s tricky because the man’s words are open, affirming, though nothing about the way they are spoken invokes such emotions. Anakin knows they are not designed to be inviting, but are meant as a challenge instead. 

There is a right and wrong answer to his question and Anakin wonders which one he cares to give. There are too many things on his mind if he’s being honest. Obi-wan still lounges in the co-pilot’s chair, seemingly without a care in the galaxy. He feigns disinterest, just as he does with warmth and candor. 

“Yeah, actually, there is,” Anakin says, seeing Obi-wan’s eyes snap open and his face harden. He thinks longingly about the man who held him and cried the night before. He can’t see him. He isn’t here right now. 

“And what might that be?” Obi-wan asks, another chance for him to relent. The man’s eyes are sharp and cutting, Anakin can feel them burn into his skin. 

“I… I feel like I don’t know you, Obi-wan,” Anakin sighs, feeling an odd tension in his throat that makes it difficult to speak in a steady voice. “I’ve known you  _ forever  _ and I don’t know a single thing about you.” 

“You’re being rather dramatic,” Obi-wan says, rolling his eyes and crossing his leg over to rest on his knee. His posture gives a picture of indifference but Anakin can feel vexation brewing all around them.

“No, I’m being  _ honest _ ,” Anakin insists, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, what do you want to know?” Obi-wan asks, his voice laden with musical whimsy. He strokes his beard and his eyes search the air mockingly. 

“Hmm, let’s see, I like long walks on cold autumn afternoons, I can’t stand bluegrass or Jazz and my favorite mixed drink is sex on the beach,” he sneers, icy blue eyes looking straight through him with a murderous glint that was always subtle as it was disarming.

Anakin’s gaze narrows with focused frustration. “You never let anyone really know you. Do you know what the Padawans in the temple said about you?” Anakin says, regretting the words as soon as they take flight. 

Obi-wan’s expression falls from smugness into dark gloom. “ _ Enlighten me. _ ” 

“They said you  _ killed  _ your Master,” Anakin says, his voice trembling, palms sweating. Obi-wan’s aura tilts darkly in an instant and he feels his heart pound in his chest, nearly taking his breath away. 

“All these years I just disregarded it as youngling gossip. When the Council accused you of those murders before we left, I thought I  _ knew  _ you were framed. But what do I know about you, Obi-wan?” 

Anakin feels his stomach twisting for his stupid, stupid words. He doesn’t really think the man is capable of murder, but he wants to hurt him and he doesn’t know how else to do it. It seems he’s been successful in the pursuit and it both gratifies and scares him at the same time. 

Obi-wan rises from his chair and cases towards him, that sociopathic look in his eyes that he summoned so easily at times. Anakin’s heart lunges into his throat and his cheeks burn brighter, turning a darker shade of scarlet. 

“And what if I did kill him? All of them?” He asks calmly, only inches away from his face. Anger boils inside of him, Anakin can feel it radiate off his skin. Obi-wan’s pretty, tranquil expression is untouched by that rage and it sends a chill down his spine. 

Obi-wan stands there- a still life. Anakin can see every freckle, every string of red in the whites of his eyes from the chronic sleep deprivation he subjects himself to and every undulation of color in the ocean blue globes that glare back at him. His heart aches. He doesn’t want  _ this,  _ he wants  _ peace.  _ He wants something that feels unattainable. It’s exhausting- emotionally, mentally, even physically he feels himself in the hollow of an unforgiving fatigue. 

“I know you didn’t,” Anakin says in an exhale, flat and tired. 

“But you don’t know a single thing about me,” Obi-wan reminds him, brows raised and head tilted. 

“I know you’re not a murderer.” 

“Maybe I had a very good reason,” Obi-wan says, words sounding more genuine than defensive though certainly not without thorns.

An empty smile curls at his lips, “And then, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I just  _ wanted  _ to. How would you know?” He taunts. 

_ I just want to know you, why won’t you let me?  _ Anakin groans internally, feeling a void take hold again. All he wants is to turn time back and lay in his arms forever. Why can’t things be like that? Something stands between them, some invisible yet very real thing that seems immovable no matter how hard he tries. 

An ache burns in his throat as Anakin holds back tears. What is the point of all this? And when did  _ he  _ become so fragile? Probably the moment Obi-wan tried to kill himself, he reasons. Nothing has been quite the same since then. He wonders if time will soothe that wound. Clearly time has not healed all the things that fester inside Obi-wan. Maybe time didn’t heal anything, only made the trauma more permanent and indelible in the mind, and harder to reach. 

Harder to  _ fix _ . 

“Maybe you would feel better if you let someone in. Someone who could understand you, someone who  _ wants  _ to understand you.” Anakin says, feeling his heart rattling shallow and frantic in his chest. He feels the words penetrate Obi-wan’s defenses and sees the man’s guarded heart falter ever so slightly. Icy eyes thaw just a fraction. 

“ _ I _ want to understand you,” Anakin confesses, his stomach fluttering and heart aching. It all escapes his comprehension. His nerves are wired and frayed. He’s desperate, burning to put hands on the man- and not to hurt him. 

Obi-wan’s eyes deepen with sadness and they no longer meet his gaze. Why can’t he fix him? He wants to see him smile- an honest, true smile. Obi-wan deserves happiness. Anakin’s heart stutters as he realizes- he wants to  _ be  _ that happiness. 

“Trust me when I say, you do not.” Obi-wan says gravely, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“You don’t get to tell me what I  _ want. _ ” Anakin glares, his voice taut and severe.

The man’s walls are breaking, Anakin can feel it crumble between them. There is a panic that lingers in the air in its wake and Obi-wan’s eyes pull tight, not unlike a frightened wild animal. 

“If you knew what was good for you,” Obi-wan says low, his lips shaping around the words earnestly. “You would leave me and never look back.” 

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m not your apprentice anymore. I don’t have to heed your unsolicited  _ advice, _ ” Anakin bites back.

“Why? Why  _ don’t  _ you just go?” Obi-wan shouts, spittle flying, his mouth twisting into a frown as his eyes gloss over. 

Anakin feels each word punch a solid blow to his gut. There are numerous little reasons why he won’t just leave, a laundry list of practicalities and passive justifications as to why he chooses to stay. There was the fact that he was a fugitive of the Galactic Republic and had few places he could safely go to pursue any other life. Really, this was the only life he  _ could  _ live, but he didn’t want anything else. 

“Because I  _ care  _ about you,” he answers softly. “Because I could never leave you.” 

Because Anakin wants to hold him, wants to feel him and be reassured he won’t leave  _ him  _ either. 

Somehow the admission feels grievous, the weight of it falling heavy on him, not lighter for having been freed from his tongue. Broken blue eyes stare back at him and he feels nauseous, overwhelmed by vulnerability. He’s afraid Obi-wan might reach inside his mind and see his stomach twisting, his heart beating frantically, his palms sweating and his thoughts rambling, ceaseless and incoherent. Still only inches away, Obi-wan suddenly feels closer-  _ too  _ close. It’s an odd feeling, panicked and strangled in his chest. 

Something changes in the air between them and a strike of fear turns the blacks of Obi-wan’s eyes to pinpricks. 

Anakin’s hand reaches out with a mind of its own, seemingly aimed at the man’s jaw. Obi-wan takes a rapid step back, evading the contact. Somehow that hurts more than any of the smart comments or angry jabs ever have.

Restless panic floods the air, Anakin can almost taste it like static on his tongue, bright and coppery. Obi-wan rushes past him down the hall and out of sight without a single word. All he can do is watch him go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan's favorite drink is totally sex on the beach, if not only to irk Anakin by its name. I cannot be persuaded otherwise! 
> 
> XD


End file.
